


An exercise in delayed gratification.

by skinnylittlered



Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Erotica, Established Relationship, F/M, Light Angst, Masturbation, Mild Smut, Mutual Masturbation, Skype, Smut, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 18:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5137691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skinnylittlered/pseuds/skinnylittlered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom’s in Hawaii, filming for Skull Island. Grace is back home. Skype sex and introspections happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An exercise in delayed gratification.

In the considerable amount of time between having made his acquaintance and the present moment, I have had the indescribably pleasant opportunity of being personally introduced to the one exceptionally rudimental fact about his person which is,  _Tom Hiddleston might be a man of too many words, but he’s one of just that many actions_. Unquestionably flamboyant in linguistic expression, at the thirty-fourth milestone of his life – may fate grant him many more others –, regardless of the fashion in which he does it, Tom Hiddleston never says anything he does not mean, save for whenever he addresses his sisters or intimate friends in a pejorative manner either mockingly or angrily, and during interviews. The first doesn’t serve as substratum for too much worry to him as the bonds between them are much too deep-seated to be shaken by infantile name-calling. As about the former, well, Tom is devout in his belief that dropping one or two false leads to save whatever’s left of his privacy is not, in fact,  _lying_ , as much as it is self-preservation.

With knowledge of most of this information, one would have sensibly deduced that I would mind my tongue and whatever reaction it could possibly elicit from him with more care, as it would be the proper case scenario. It is, regardless, not at all the case, for I, as the pathetic, not-even-attempting-not-to-be-devious, ever the slut that I happen to be just the perfect amount too much, and helpless when it comes to pushing my man’s buttons in a way that’s got him enraged to such a degree that, nostrils expanding like a bull’s, he grips me by the throat, pressing firmly enough to make me light-headed from oxygen deprivation, promises in a tone low, feral, that my behaviour is not to go without consequence. He, then, kisses me in the gentlest of manners, a soft brush of the lips, and departs, eyewear and hat in place, locking the door behind him.

~*~

The next time we see each other is through Skype, a couple of weeks later.

He’s just finished shooting, by the looks of it, taking a shower and has settled nicely and comfortably into his hotel room, bare chest glistening under a thin layer of water, not exactly dripping, but emphasizing the lines dividing the flesh into symmetrically neat sections onto which I’m dying to latch my mouth, hungrily marring the skin for how much he may allow me, just to feel the vital pulses of veins under the pale thinness of his skin. A white towel hangs loosely around his waist, propped by prominent hips fluidly descending into a clearly delineated Adonis’ belt, partly covered by the pristine fabric also shielding my ravenous sight from the continuation or the trail of soft, blonde hairs starting just below his belly button, descending to the lowest point of his pelvis.

Sex deprivation has never been something I managed with ease, and, judging by his well-entertained visage, the point of his exposing his naked flesh to me in this particular state of restlessness arousal is the very much intended tormenting of my already hot and bothered womanly whatnots, with the perfect knowledge that, as things currently present themselves to be, there is not one thing in existence that I could possibly do in the following twelve hours, as a minimal approximation, to saturate my cravings and allow my wantonly body much needed repose.

“Morning.”

True to form, his voice is all things velvet and precisely tempered, to contrast with measured exactness my exuding affliction, the visceral tremors of my impetuous want. As with most things Tom Hiddleston, this is both arousing and maddening at the same time.

“Evening. It’s evening.”

“But it’s morning where I am.”

“It doesn’t matter, Tom. When greeting someone you do so according to their circumstances, not your own, and they ought to do the same in return.”

The response my chastisement earns is an amused, but conceding, smile accompanied by a matching “Good evening, then, Grace, my love.”

“And good morning to you, Tom, my love.”

“Good indeed, now that I finally see your face again.”

A faux-blush, a cute smile.

“You mean to say that you missed me?”

More amusement.

“Oh, sweetheart, but how could I have not? Now, say, have  _you_  missed  _me_?”

“Maaaayyybe.”

“Baby.”

“Yes?”

“Answer the question.”

“…”

“Have you missed me?”

“…yes.”

“When? When have you missed me, baby?”

It’s easy to figure out what a man wants from you when his towel is hanging from several inches of hardened cock and he isn’t even attempting to hide it. It’s also easy to feign disinterest, however astronomically far from the truth it may be, so to peak his annoyance just enough for him to wish you were there with him as much as you do. But Tom has mastered the art of concealing his innate ferality via learned mannerisms too well for my pitiful “When the kitchen sink is full.” to affect him other than in the form of a low chuckle.

“Grace.”

“I missed you when I woke up today. The bed was empty. And it was cold. And then I missed you at breakfast – I ate alone. I don’t like eating alone anymore. Lunch break at work sucked, too.”

Fuck, this is getting a bit melodramatic.  _Fuck_ , he’s looking a bit sad, too!

“But I miss you most right now. The room is a bit chilly and I’m all alone, in this flimsy little bathrobe-“

“Just the bathrobe?”

“Mhm.”

“Take it off for me, baby.”

Ah, there it is! As I place the laptop on the bed and kneel in front of it, unveiling first my breasts, which immediately react to the nudity-unfriendly temperature, gently caressing them and squeezing them for his visual delectation, then let the garment slide off of me altogether, the thrill of the selfless exhibitionism that masturbating for a loved one sends shivers down my spine, arching it with self-effacing delight – I am offering him myself, my simulated pleasure (never got much out of solo activity, to be honest). Before long I am spread before him, fondling the seeping wetness of my cunt as his hand hastily motions back and forth on the firm length of his erection, ragged breathing and hoarse voice commanding that I rub faster, I pump deeper and I do, I diligently put on a performance so dramatic but realistic enough it could be called Shakespearian, a performance to match his own professional work. Because I know exactly what my man wants, what my man  _needs_. My man wants me to help myself when he isn’t there, to be strong enough not to require his aid, to be self-sufficient, to prove it to him. That’s what makes him come, hissing my name as if he was swearing, sprouting his seed all over his chest, lazily stroking the last of his orgasm as I pretend to do with my supposed one.

Self-sufficiency manifests in many ways. Mine is making enough money to get myself a hooker.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s notes: Red here. Your one and only source into the imaginary world of a very much real british actor.
> 
> I love Gossip Girl *laughs*
> 
> You might be happy to find out that Red still writes nearly-porn while watching children’s cartoons. Tom and Jerry is a classic.
> 
> Mind boggling feedback on A man of forty. I am blown away.
> 
> Blueberry scones go to the new followers: @katieannwrites, @tomstinkerbell, @putabirdonit1, @sherlokipotter96, aaand @umaanuma. WELCOME, YOU GUYS, HOPE YOU HAVE BUCKETTONS OF FUN AROUND HERE.
> 
> Honorary blueberry scone goes to @antyc67 (I’m going to shoot myself, Tumblr tagging is so faulty it makes me cry), who requested that I tag her when I upload new stuff (again, that’s a thing I’m now doing).
> 
> Also, a little bit of news - due to some critics I have received in the last few days I might go on a bit of a hiatus, in order to set some things straight with myself about my writing. I don’t know if that will actually happen, but I’m giving you a heads-up in case there will be no upload next week or the following ones. 
> 
> The main goal of my writing is to be honest about some aspects of human nature and it has been recently brought to my attention that I have failed to achieve that in my last pieces of work. I need to do a bit of soul-searching, I guess. 
> 
> That being said, thank you for reading, lovelies, and you stay golden! *hands out blueberry scones to everyone, because you’re all special to me*


End file.
